The Hit
by gentlewinnix
Summary: Dick Winters is an ex-marine turned professional hitman. He's been working the job long enough that he's put any regrets behind, but when he is hired to kill Lewis Nixon, the son of a prolific weapons manufacturer and a former one night stand, he begins to question his own motivations. Winnix.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **For mols. Fill for the Easy Co Troopers 2018 Summer Fic Exchange. This is a story that's been a little bug in the back of my mind pretty much since I first got into this fandom two and a half years ago. It's mostly inspired by Anthony Horowitz's novel, _Russian Roulette_, and the movie _Our Kind of Traitor._ I highly recommend listening to the soundtrack for _Our Kind of Traitor_ as you read. The songs "The Ballet" and "The List" are my personal picks for the overall theme.

Tags include: AU - Modern Setting, Assassins & Hitmen, Enemies to Lovers, Seduction, Introspection, Referenced Carwood Lipton/Richard Winters, Dick Winters makes a lot of bad decisions.

* * *

US-30 Highway, Pennsylvania

Folk rock plays softly inside a silver 2010 Honda Accord as it cruises down the highway, just above the speed limit. Dick Winters taps his fingers on the wheel in time with the beat of the music, otherwise entirely focused on his driving. He sits upright, stiff in his USMC service uniform.

It's been two years since he's been home, and he's ready to see his family again.

He turns off the highway and into Lancaster County, letting off the gas a bit as he passes through the city. Nothing has changed, but he has, and it feels like looking at it for the first time. A few people recognize him, waving, and he smiles and returns the gesture. It's good to be home, despite everything.

Dick pulls up at his parents' house, noting his father's truck is parked up front, and his little sister's new car beside it. But something feels wrong. The lights are all off, and there is no sound from the barn.

He steps out of his car- dusty and sun-bleached now from two years in a parking lot in Arlington, Virginia- and approaches the house. He's not sure what he's expecting, but when he finds the door unlocked he goes on high alert. Instinctively, he reaches for his weapon, but remembers belatedly that he has none. Dick swallows, stepping inside. It's eerily silent. He checks the first floor, finding nothing and no one.

Upstairs, he finds them. His father and mother, still in bed, a bullet put through their skulls. Blood-soaked pillows, still wet. He finds his sister down the hallway- she would've heard, tried to escape. She hadn't made it out. Dick looks over the scene in silence for a few minutes, the grief swelling hard in his chest. This was recent – almost certainly the night before, if not in the early morning. If he'd come home just one day earlier he could have stopped it.

Dick had thought then that he'd seen enough death for one lifetime.

But the truth is, he had only just begun to scratch the surface.

* * *

_+07 months _

New York City, New York

Dick watches the man fall over dead, a bullet clean through the head. He presses _send _on his cell phone and shuts it off, pocketing it. When it's turned on again there will be no message history and no saved contacts. Only one number is able to contact him. He appraises the rifle in his hands for a moment before taking it apart, putting the pieces into a sleek briefcase. He pulls a false bottom over it and snaps the case shut.

Five minutes later he walks through the streets of New York, by all appearances a regular businessman on his way back from work. The man he shot will be discovered soon enough, when someone notices he hasn't left his office, and the police will find no trace of his presence atop of the building just across the street.

He returns to his hotel, a business-class Westin where he has checked in with a throwaway credit card and a false identity. He takes the stairs up to the third floor and returns to his room, a single furnished with a California king bed, desk, TV, kitchenette, bathroom, and personal safe. It's a far cry from his rural homestead origins. He takes his laptop out of a duffel bag sitting on the bed and pops it open, changing out of his suit and into a T-shirt and jeans as the computer boots up. He checks his bank account, nodding as he sees the newest deposit, and checks his private email. There's no work for him yet, and he sits back with a sigh, contemplating what to do next. He can't stay at the hotel past tomorrow morning, but until then he has complete freedom.

A few minutes later, Dick steps out into the city streets again and walks to a restaurant down the street. It's a family business, unassuming and low-traffic, and he sits at the bar around the corner, his view of the place completely unobstructed. A habit he'd developed in Iraq, and found useful in his line of work afterwards.

After he orders his own meal, another customer comes in and sits down next to him. He's handsome, a little shorter than Dick and a bit stocky, but the button-down and trousers he wears are tailored nicely to his figure. His dark hair is parted and slicked back cleanly. Dick can tell that he is very, very wealthy. But he doesn't carry himself like a rich man- he slouches over the bar and stares into his drink- a whiskey and Coke. His face has a melancholy look to it- thick eyebrows, soft cheeks, almond-shaped dark eyes.

Dick can't say he's not interested.

It'd taken him a long time to come to terms with his sexuality. It wasn't until he was serving in Iraq that a man named Carwood Lipton had caught his eye in a similar way to the man at the bar today. Lipton was a first sergeant subordinate to Dick, and he was short, heavily muscled, and fair-haired, with a boyish face. He was a good leader, a good soldier, and when Dick finally realized his own homosexuality, a good lover. He was Dick's first- there were a few others in the months after returning home, guys he let pick him up and left afterwards, whose names he didn't ask. But Lipton was the first to press him down against an army cot and make love to him. His kind demeanor hid a rougher side, a more possessive and dominating facet of his personality, and Dick was surprised to learn of his own submissive tendencies. He'd always been a romantic, but never thought of lying back and letting someone else come into him, leaving marks on his chest and shoulders and thighs. Of course, Lipton was softer afterwards. The others usually weren't, and it left Dick feeling used. But he expected it, and felt on some level that he deserved it.

Dick can tell just from looking that the man at the bar is not a submissive person by nature. He seems weary, yes, and over-taxed, but he holds a very careful control over himself and everything around him. He looks up for the first time, his eyes meeting Dick's, and he smiles. It's a shark's smile, leering and confident. Dick sits up a bit straighter.

"Hey," the man says. "Haven't seen you here before."

"It's my first time in New York," Dick replies casually. It's not a lie. He'd never been in the city before. "I'm Dick." If this goes where he thinks it will, his name will be forgotten by the end of the night. Not that it matters. It's easy enough to make up a last name.

"Lewis." The man smiles. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"I don't drink," Dick says. "But you can buy me dessert."

Lewis raises an eyebrow, intrigued. He doesn't comment, and then they're both distracted as the server brings their food. Lewis is already very close to Dick, sitting on the stool just next to him, but as he eats their elbows brush together a few times and the man smirks knowingly. It's entirely intentional, of course, and Dick rolls his eyes.

"Childish," he says, and Lewis winks.

After their meal, Lewis does in fact buy him a dessert, and he makes small talk while Dick drinks his milkshake. Dick doesn't learn anything significant from it and it's better that way. There's no ring on Lewis's finger, but he could still have a family. It's better not to know these things, he's learned. Attachment isn't a good idea in his line of work. It gets you killed, or it gets you heartbroken.

After Dick finishes his milkshake and they pay their tabs, Lewis herds him into the sleek black Corvette parked on the street outside. Dick doesn't miss the man standing outside by the door of the restaurant, the nod that Lewis gives him to signal that he wants to be left alone. Lewis is wealthy enough- _significant _enough- to have a bodyguard, and Dick wonders how he's made the kind of enemies that call for a personal security detail.

Lewis rests a hand on Dick's thigh as he drives, his fingers touching the inseam of Dick's jeans, and Dick stops thinking about it.

After the sun has gone down that night, Lewis drops Dick off at the hotel, and they share a lingering kiss before Dick steps out and watches the man drive away. They'd fucked in the car, in a parking lot along the shore, and Dick is sure he will never see Lewis again, and that's just fine. He goes up to his room and runs a bath, soaking in the hot water to ease the aches and pains he knows he'll be feeling in the morning. Lewis wasn't as rough as other men have been, but he took what he wanted, and the back seat of his Corvette was a tight fit for someone as tall as Dick.

He soaps himself down and rinses off, ghosts of Lewis's touch purpling on the skin of his hips and shoulders.

* * *

In the morning, Dick checks out of the hotel and leaves New York. Still without an assignment, he goes home, to Lancaster County. As he steps out of his car he looks at the house. A quaint white homestead, the barn a few meters away. He'd sold off all their livestock, and his father and sister's cars. When he goes inside he's greeted by an orange tabby cat who meows plaintively, and he bends down to pet her, rubbing the scruff under her chin.

"Hey, Piper," he says, and goes to the kitchen to fill her food and water bowls. Piper is a barn cat and a mouser; she is perfectly capable of fending for herself during Dick's long trips abroad. But she hangs around the house keeping Dick company, and he doesn't mind it at all.

After he's fed the cat he goes up the stairs, ignoring the two closed bedroom doors and going to his own room. He's outgrown it, the pastel blue walls and soft sand-colored carpet, the full bed with its star-patterned covers, the stuffed animals and books on the wall. But he hadn't had the heart to change anything when he left for college, and now it's just one more relic of the life he's lost. Dick drops his briefcase and duffel bag on the bed, sliding a locked trunk out from under the bed. He enters a combination, then pushes a key in and turns it, and the trunk opens. He takes his guns out of the smaller briefcase; the rifle and two small pistols, and tucks them away into the trunk with his other weapons. Dick closes the trunk and locks it up, sliding it back under the bed, then slides the briefcase under as well.

He takes his duffel bag from atop the bed and leaves the room, closing the door behind him and going back down to the main floor. He puts the rest of his things away, having set up camp in the living room. There are no pictures on the wall, and none of the original furniture. He sleeps on a fold-out sofa bed and keeps his clothes in a black armoire; he eats dinner and works at a short metal desk.

It's a solitary life - the life he feels he deserves.

* * *

_+01 month _

Baltimore, Maryland

Dick pulls up to the gate of a private residence buried deep in the forest, rolling down his window and showing the guard his identification. The man nods, going to unlock the gate. Dick drives in, following a gravel road about half a mile up a hill until he approaches an imposing colonial mansion. As he climbs out of his car a man steps out onto the porch. He's tall, rather plain looking, but the expensive, tight-fitting grey suit he wears gives him a sense of superiority, of power.

"Dick. Welcome back," he says, smiling as Dick walks up to him. When Dick joins him on the porch, he leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, and Dick allows the gesture, inclining his head respectfully. His stomach twists with disgust, but he bears it. It's better not to offend Sobel, he's learned. The price is steep.

"Herbert," he says, following the man inside. "Was there a reason you wanted to see me in person?"

Sobel smiles, leading Dick to the dining room. "I have a contract for you," he says. "Our client is rather high-profile and asked us to discuss this by word of mouth only. He's very concerned for his safety, you see. There could be huge backlash if it traces back to him. He asked for our best man."

Dick frowns, sitting down at the table. "There's got to be someone better than me," he argues. Sobel just smiles, waving a butler over and requesting a meal for them both.

"You're my best man," Sobel says after the butler has left, taking a sip of water. "I have confidence that you will meet my expectations and complete the job without any loose ends. You know the consequences of failure better than anyone else."

Dick nods. "Who is the target?"

Sobel puts down his glass of water. "A young man by the name of Lewis Nixon," he says. "Have you heard of him?"

Dick shakes his head. "He sounds familiar, but I don't know offhand." He thinks of the man he met in New York, but shakes the thought. It couldn't be him.

"His father is Stanhope Nixon, owner of Nixon Firearms," says Sobel, and Dick looks up in surprise. Sobel smiles. "Yes, our primary weapons supplier. Word is that Stanhope has fallen ill and doesn't have long to live. Lewis is set to inherit the company, but…" Sobel trails off as the butler brings them food, fussing over his sandwich when it doesn't meet his expectations and having it sent back. Dick eats his own without complaint, watching the interaction silently.

"As I was saying," Sobel resumes, huffing, "Lewis is set to inherit Nixon Firearms, but our client is close friends with both him and his father, and has learned that Lewis has been selling weapons to...certain infamous terrorist organizations, and rather recklessly so. If Stanhope passes away, and this is found out, Nixon Firearms would be shut down. As you know, this would hurt our business as well as theirs. It can't happen."

Dick nods. "What happens when he dies?"

"His younger sister, Blanche, will be next to inherit," Sobel says, pausing as he is given a new meal. "She doesn't care to be involved at all. She will give it over to our client, who will straighten things out and continue to run the company as is it is run now."

"Alright," Dick says, finishing his meal. "What information can you give me?"

"Photographs, his home address, his work schedule. You'll need to piece the rest together yourself," says Sobel, sending the butler a significant look. The man turns to leave, and Sobel looks back at Dick. "Evans will bring you the information in just a moment. You have until the end of September to make the kill. If Lewis Nixon is not dead by midnight of October first, you will no longer be under my protection, Dick. There is far too much riding on this for you to fail me."

"I understand, sir," Dick says mildly. He takes the flash drive Evans presents to him, tucking it in his jacket pocket.

"There is a safe house for you just across the street from Lewis's home," Sobel says, and Evans hands Dick a folded piece of paper. "You may stay there to observe him. There is equipment set up for you already."

"Sir."

Sobel smiles, getting to his feet. "I suppose that will be all," he says, tinged with regret. "You're welcome to stay the night."

"No thank you, sir," Dick refuses politely. "I'd rather get myself to New Jersey, if it's all the same to you." He stands, letting Sobel lead the way to the door.

"Next time, then." Sobel murmurs, kissing Dick goodbye.

"Maybe," Dick replies, shaking his hand and turning to his car. He leaves Sobel's home, a sick feeling in his stomach.

The price of failure is steep, indeed.

Dick drives back home. He packs his things, feeds the cat again, and sets out for New Jersey. It's not a long drive, and he pulls up to the house just as the sun is beginning to set. He's taken aback by the neighborhood, though he shouldn't be surprised - the homes lining the streets are easily five to seven bedroom mansions, elegantly decorated with expensive cars parked out front. The safe house is a four bedroom, with brown cobblestone walls and elegant windows, and he pulls his car into the garage to find a blue 2017 Cadillac sedan waiting inside. He could afford to live like this himself, but he chooses not to.

He closes the garage and gets out, going into the kitchen. There is food in the fridge, and all the cookware he could need. On the dining table there is an envelope, and he opens it to find credentials; a debit and credit card, a state ID, a driver's license, a social security card. All fake, registered to a Richard Price. Dick explores the rest of the house, finding a living room, guest bathroom, and the four bedrooms upstairs, with one bathroom connected to the master bedroom and another open for the other rooms. In one of the spare bedrooms he finds an office set up, CCTV feeds showing the interior and exterior of another house. He realizes it's Nixon's home, and feels an unexpected pang of guilt.

Dick doesn't like to take jobs like this, where he has to get close, to get the know the person's life. He prefers to kill from a distance, knowing the bare minimum, going on with his life without the knowledge of a family to mourn the death of their loved one, a father, a husband, a brother- he'd killed women before, too, and he'll never know if they were mothers or sisters, wives or aunts. He's no better than whoever had killed his own family.

Dick goes to the master bedroom, setting down his things and taking out his laptop and the flash drive. Once the computer is booted up he opens the flash drive, paging through the information. He hovers over the pictures folder for a moment before clicking.

"Oh, no," Dick groans. On his screen is the same dark haired, handsome man he'd slept with in New York. He clicks through the other photos, his heart sinking as they are all, clearly, Lewis Nixon; the man he'd let fuck him in the backseat of his Corvette, heir of Nixon Firearms, and apparently, father to a little girl as well.

"Christ."


	2. Chapter 2

After he's showered and eaten the next morning, Dick checks the surveillance cameras. He happens to catch Nixon just as he's leaving, dressed for work and getting into his car, and Dick makes a note of it in his notebook. He rewinds the tape back to when it had started, at midnight the night before he'd come to New Jersey, and makes a note of when Nixon left and came back that day as well.

He learns that Nixon's home is under guard as well, the camera feed he's seeing is simply lifted from cameras Nixon had installed himself, and there are two private security guards at his home at all times, a third who leaves with him wherever he goes. But Dick recalls their time in New York - when Nixon is with a sexual partner, he waves the man off. But had the guard really left them, or was he still nearby?

Dick considers his notes. Nixon's work schedule is as regular as it gets, from nine to five Monday through Friday. From a Google search Dick learns that Nixon had been served divorce papers three years ago; he can only assume Nixon sees his daughter during the weekends, or perhaps after school. She is at least seven years old. He'll have to work around all of this, find a way to isolate Nixon, preferably while his daughter is away, and kill him.

There's only one option that seems feasible, and he curses.

"Damn you, Sobel," Dick mutters.

* * *

Nixon returns at six that night, and Dick watches as he prepares to go out. Dick tugs his own jacket on and locks down the house, getting in his car and waiting. After a few minutes Nixon's garage opens and he pulls out onto the street, no guard trailing him. Dick waits for a moment, turns on his headlights, and follows. Nixon turns in to an elementary school lot, and Dick watches from the street as he goes inside the building and comes out with a little girl- his daughter- trailing behind him.

_No contact with her mother, then _, Dick observes. Nixon seems to engage the girl in a conversation as he helps her into the back seat, and Dick frowns, remembering when he'd done the same for his little sister, years ago. Ann was talkative, like all little kids, but she was also very intelligent, often going into great detail on things Dick didn't even know about. She'd written to him about a STEM club she'd joined while he was overseas, about how she was going to build the robots of the future, robots that could perform precise surgeries and help people. Dick had folded the letter into his breast pocket and raided a village, killing child soldiers only a few years older than Ann.

He shakes himself from his musings abruptly, starting the car and following Nixon back home.

Dick fixes himself a quick dinner and sits down at the desk, watching out of curiosity more than anything as Nixon herds his daughter into the house and- surprisingly- starts to cook dinner himself. Dick had expected a maid and a chef, at Nixon's status, but he sets to work in the kitchen with an easy familiarity. Beth, as Dick learns is her name, sits at the table and does her homework, asking Nixon questions about her work as she goes. She finishes her work, setting it aside for Nixon to look over after they eat, and then he serves their food. Beth insists on saying grace before they eat, and Nixon smiles, rolling his eyes.

Dick watches as they eat, his own plate sitting empty on the table. Nixon checks Beth's homework, seeming impressed, and then herds her into the bathroom to bathe. Dick is about to leave to put his plate away when he hears Beth ask a question.

"Daddy, are you a bad man?"

Dick glances at the screen again, watching as Nixon pauses.

"Who's saying I am?" Nixon asks, sounding strained.

Beth glances down at her lap, playing with the water absently. "Well, Mommy was talking to her boyfriend and said you could go to jail someday. She said...she said you lied to her."

Nixon is silent for a moment. "My job is very dangerous," he says slowly. "I lied to keep you and Mommy safe. I still love both of you very much, Beth. I will do everything I can to protect you."

Beth nods, her expression serious. "Okay," she says.

Nixon smiles. "Are you ready to get out?"

"Yeah," Beth stands up, stepping out of the tub, and Nixon wraps a towel around her.

Dick takes the moment to slip downstairs, scrubbing his plate clean and getting himself a glass of water. When Dick returns to the office, he sees that Nixon has put Beth to sleep and is sitting on his bed, head bent down as if in prayer. His shoulders quake and Dick realizes Nixon is crying. Dick feels a pang of sympathy. He doesn't know much about Nixon yet, what lead him to the life he lives, but he admits he can relate to that feeling of regret, of being in too deep to get out. The difference between them, though, is that Dick has no family left to disappoint.

Dick leaves the room, giving Nixon some small semblance of privacy. He doesn't need to see this man's grief.

* * *

After a week of observation, Dick is familiar with Lew's schedule. It's next to impossible to get the man completely alone, but he seems to have a habit of going out on Thursday nights, and Dick trails him to a bar that night. Another of Nixon's habits - he is a heavy drinker. The only time he doesn't drink is when his daughter is home with him.

Dick waits in the lot for a few minutes, then goes in. He's a bit overwhelmed by the noise and the crowd after a week in a mostly-silent house, but he adjusts soon enough and finds Nixon seated at the bar. He's dressed casually this time, in a black T-shirt and jeans with a leather jacket hung on the back of his chair, and he nurses a whiskey. Everything about his demeanor says _leave me alone, _but Dick is heedless. He slides into the seat next to Nixon and orders a Coke from the bartender. Nixon glances over at him, recognition crossing his face.

"You were in New York last month, weren't you?" Nixon asks, and Dick smiles.

"Yeah. You remember my name?"

Nixon chuckles. "Yeah. Dick. How could I forget a name like that? What brings you to Jersey?"

"Oh, I'm here on business," Dick says vaguely. "So, I didn't realize you were Lewis Nixon," he says casually, sipping his Coke. Nixon grimaces, looking away.

"I was hoping you'd forget about me," he admits.

"I didn't," Dick smiles. "I see you didn't forget me, either."

Nixon shakes his head, smiling. "You weren't like the others," he says simply. "I was hoping I'd run into you again."

"Well, here I am. Are you gonna buy me dessert again?"

Nixon gives Dick a withering look. "I think you owe me a dessert, this time around."

Dick chuckles. "Oh, I see how it is."

"How long will you be in town?" Nixon asks, finishing his whiskey.

"Until the end of the month," Dick answers, raising an eyebrow. "You that desperate for company?"

The barb stings, and Nixon frowns. "I'm a very busy man. It's not often someone local catches my attention."

"Hmm," says Dick. "I guess I'll buy you that dessert."

Nixon doesn't take him to his car this time. Instead he walks Dick a few blocks down the road to a studio apartment, and Dick takes note of the address - this wasn't in any of Nixon's files. They go up the stairs and Nix unlocks the door, letting Dick in first. It's not a cheap place, despite the neighborhood; the interior has been remodeled in a modernist style, with clean white walls and granite floors. There is a king-sized bed and an armoire along one wall, the entire opposing wall one big window, and a small bathroom and kitchenette tucked in the corner.

Dick smiles, unaffected by the simple opulence. He lets Nixon press up into his space and kisses him languidly, reaching for the lapels of his jacket and easing it off of Nixon's shoulders. It would be oh-so-easy to kill Nixon right now, to take the knife from his boot and carve him open here in his fancy apartment, but Dick resists. That would be messy, and arouse too much suspicion. There were people in the bar who might have recognized Nixon, who could provide a description of Dick to the police in the highly probably event of a public investigation. It's never a good idea to finish the job like that, with so many risks hanging in the balance.

A honey trap, as it's called- that is what Dick needs to do, to isolate Nixon with as few risks as possible. And it starts with letting Nixon undress him and push him down against the bed. But this time, he doesn't move to leave afterwards, and Lewis notices.

"I'm lonely, too," Dick says honestly, turning to look at Lewis. "My work- it's all I have. I lost my family in a triple murder less than a year ago."

"Jesus." Lewis frowns, resting a palm on Dick's hip. "I have a family," he says. "But my wife divorced me. I work for my father, but he's an asshole. So I don't really know how you feel, but I can imagine it."

"Do you have children?" Dick asks, feigning curiosity.

"Yes," Lewis smiles softly. "A daughter. She's seven."

Dick picks at the sheets. "I'm sure she's wonderful," he murmurs. "I had a little sister. She would be 15 now." He remembers the last time he saw Ann, as he left for deployment at just 25 years old. Ann was twelve, in middle school, and she'd waved goodbye with tears running down her face as her big brother and best friend left to fight a war.

"I'm sorry," Lewis says, and Dick blinks, wiping tears away.

"It's fine," Dick deflects. "I try not to think about it too much. I blame myself."

Lewis doesn't ask any more about how they died, and Dick is grateful for it. He's not sure if he could say it, lie or not. They spend about an hour talking before Lewis gets up, suggesting they shower and rescue their cars before they get ticketed. Dick showers first, scrubbing himself down quickly, and as Lewis cleans up he puts his clothes on and takes an apple from the counter, eating absently. There's nothing personal in the studio, no information at all to be gleaned from the space, and Dick isn't terribly surprised. Lewis has good reason to be careful.

He watches with interest as Lewis steps out, drying off and getting dressed without any concern for Dick's eyes on him. He checks his phone and frowns, but shakes it off.

"Let's trade numbers," he says, looking up at Dick. "We could meet up again sometime. I'm free Tuesdays and Thursdays. Weekends, if you can tolerate kids."

Dick smiles, a bit surprised. "Alright," he agrees, and they swap phones, entering each other's numbers in. For the job he'd entered in a handful of fictional contacts, and Lewis is none the wiser. Nixon walks him back to their cars, and Dick waves goodbye before driving home, taking the long way around.

* * *

Dick doesn't have much to do on Friday. He watches Nixon on the computer until he's left for work, and then he gets a text message from him not long after lunchtime. Dick had figured that Nixon's job is mostly desk work, the only real work he does being the weapons trading. Regardless, Nixon's text message proves he isn't occupied at the moment.

_Terribly bored, _Nix's message says. _Thinking of you. _

Dick scoffs. Nixon really isn't one for pleasantries. But he decides to humor the man, for now.

_Good morning. Thinking of me how? _

Nix replies quickly. _You know how. _

Dick smirks. _What if I don't? Describe it to me. _

There's a pause, and Dick busies himself with putting dishes away. He considers going out- no use sitting inside, after all- but decides to wait and see where this conversation goes.

_We're at my house, _Nix's message starts. _In my bedroom. The windows are open, and there's a nice breeze. You're needy, you push me onto the bed and tear our clothes off. _

Dick's eyebrows raise. Nix's message ends there, and he replies, _Go on. _

Nix continues without further prompting, and Dick's cheeks flush as he describes a rather vivid scenario of them together with some flattery mixed in. Dick isn't the most confident man, not in himself as anything other than a leader of men, and it's nice to feel attractive, wanted. Briefly, he thinks maybe he could love Nixon. But he hardly knows the man, he reminds himself.

Still- it feels wrong to kill a lover, someone he'd slept with and let into his life, into his heart. He'd never been this close to any of his targets before, and as he texts Nix back with a fantasy of his own, he tries to ignore the doubt and guilt gnawing at the back of his mind.

* * *

On Saturday, Nix invites Dick over, and he walks across the street to the house. Nixon answers the door with a smile. Dick points over his shoulder with his thumb.

"You know, I'm just down the street."

"Funny how things work out," Nixon comments lightly, stepping aside to let Dick in and closing the door behind him. Dick hears a dog barking, and then there's a golden retriever all over him. Nix watches with a grin as Dick coaxes the dog, petting and scratching behind its ears.

"That's Polly," Nix says, and glances towards the hallway as there's a patter of feet on the floor. "And this is Beth," he finishes just as the girl peeks her head in, looking up at Dick.

"Hi, Beth," Dick says warmly, smiling.

"Are you one of Daddy's work friends?" She asks point-blank, and Nix tsks.

"Beth, that was a little rude," he chastises. "At least say hi back."

"Hi," she says flatly, and Dick chuckles.

"I'm Dick," he replies. "I'm not one of your Dad's work friends, or at least I don't think I am."

Beth seems to perk up at that. "Okay," she says solemnly. "You're nice. I like you." She turns on her heel, walking away. Polly whuffs and breaks away from Dick's touch to follow her down the hallway. Nixon smiles.

"She's overprotective," he says. "She knows I don't like my job very much."

"Aw," says Dick. "That's sweet."

Nix shrugs. "C'mon, I'll make us lunch. I'm sure you're hungry."

They talk while Nixon makes a lunch of egg salad sandwiches, salted potato chips, and root beer, and he calls for Beth to join them at the table when it's ready. Dick settles into a comfortable silence, watching as father and daughter interact over their meal. He feels a twinge of unease, remembering that he has to kill this man. Dick thinks he might retire, after this job. He has enough money to live on his own without work for at least two years, if not more- he's rather stingy with his spending. Nix, comparatively, is also affluent, but it shows. His kitchen is well-stocked, and he has an array of luxury appliances.

But, Dick reminds himself, these things were bought with blood money. Clearly, he's made a living off of death for long enough. Dick knows that Nixon Firearms is by all appearances a legal business, but the weapons he has that were provided by Sobel say otherwise. Sobel and other criminals- _terrorists - _buy illegal weapons from Lewis Nixon for much higher prices, and the man lives comfortably because of it.

Killing Lewis Nixon will not stop the cycle of arms trading and death for good. But Dick's work isn't based in morality or heroics, particularly not on that large of a scale, and he can't back out now. It's a damn shame he has to get close first, but he figures he's paying the price for taking on this job in the first place.

"Hey. Earth to Dick." Nixon's voice breaks Dick from his thoughts and he looks up at the other man, inquisitive. "You want another sandwich?"

"Oh, no thank you," Dick responds, finishing the last of his chips.

"Alright." Nixon shrugs, making himself and Beth another sandwich. Dick realizes Beth is looking at him, brows furrowed like she's solving a puzzle.

"What's up?" Dick asks, and Beth shakes her head.

"You seem sad, like Daddy does sometimes."

"Oh." Dick glances at Nixon, seeing that he's frowning to himself. "Well, I have a very stressful job."

"What do you do?" Beth asks, sitting up a bit.

"I'm a contractor. I do work for other people who are too busy to do it."

Beth tilts her head, thoughtful. "Maybe you can do Daddy's job for him!" she says brightly, and Dick notices Nixon tense before he turns around to put their plates down.

Dick chuckles and shakes his head. "I don't think your Daddy needs me to help," he says neutrally.

"Dick's busy enough, I'm sure," says Nixon. "Eat up. We can go to the park later, if you want."

"I'm free all weekend, actually," says Dick, smiling. "I can come along, if you wouldn't mind."

"Yeah!" says Beth, taking a bite out of her sandwich, and Nix just shakes his head, smiling.

* * *

That night they lie in Nixon's bed together, Dick rubbing Lew's chest absently. He has to admit it's nice to have a regular partner again. Since Lipton, he'd only had one-night stands. Dick remembers the studio apartment Lew had taken him to the other night and sits up a bit.

"What was that apartment you took me to last time?" he asks, and Lew opens his eyes.

"Oh, that," he says. "It's just a place I have to get away. I'm sure you've noticed the bodyguards. They don't know about that place."

"Oh," says Dick, feigning ignorance. He thinks about his plan, but again, there's too many risks involved there in such a public area. Lew had probably done that on purpose. "I have a place like that," he says. "A little cabin out in the woods." It's true, though the house is owned by Sobel. Another safe house he'd granted to Dick for this job.

Lew smiles. "That sounds nice. Maybe we could go out there, when Beth's with Kathy."

"Sure," says Dick.

Lew is silent for a moment, thoughtful. He rolls onto his side, looking at Dick. "You know what my company does," he says, and it's not a question. Dick blinks, looking over at him.

"You manufacture guns," he says, wondering where this is going.

"Yeah," Lewis sighs. "Rifles, pistols. Military and police grade." He swallows. "They're weapons meant to kill people. We don't make them for sport or hunting."

Dick nods. "I've killed people," he says. "With your guns. In the war."

Nix's jaw clenches, and he looks away. "I hate guns," he murmurs. "I hate how easy it is to rip life away from someone. I hate that you've killed before."

Dick watches Lew intently. What he's saying now goes against everything he's learned about the man, and there's a cold feeling in his chest. He takes Lew's hand, trying to coax him into talking more.

Lew scoffs, shaking his head. "I never wanted to be involved in this company," he says. "Once Dad dies, I'm...I want to sell it away." He swallows. "But...there's things that have been done. That are still happening. I'd go to prison if they were found out, Dick." He looks up at Dick, fear in his eyes. "I'd never see Beth again."

"Lew," Dick breathes, lost for words. Lew has said too much, he thinks worriedly. There are cameras, other people watching and listening to him. He shakes his head, leaning in and kissing Lew. When he's gathered his thoughts he pulls back. "You have guards," he says softly enough that the cameras won't catch. "They listen to you, don't they?"

Lew nods. "They know." He looks at Dick, dark-eyed gaze begging him to understand. "I'm a prisoner already, Dick," he whispers.

"God," Dick hisses. He kisses Lew again. He wants desperately to offer help, but he knows he's being irrational. He needs to confirm this information first, to ensure that Lew isn't playing him. He feels a stab of guilt at that thought. He's already lied to Lew, from the very start. "We'll...we'll think of something," he whispers, and Lew nods, staring at their joined hands. His tight expression crumples, and he exhales heavily.

"Thank you," he whispers.

Lew falls asleep not long after that, and Dick turns off the light. He stares up at the ceiling, guilt gnawing at his heart. Maintaining a professional distance is impossible at this point. But surely the feelings he's having now are just sentiment, he reasons. Sleeping with Nix is clouding his judgement, making him overcompensate. He'd never felt much for any of his partners before. But- he'd never seen their personal lives, met their families, or even known their names, in most cases.

The simple fact that Nixon is an arms smuggler, a target, unwilling or not, should be enough to turn Dick off. But there's a nagging doubt at the back of his mind, a certainty that there is still more to the picture that Dick hasn't seen yet, something that makes Nixon different from the others. He's certainly not innocent- Dick isn't naive enough to think that- but Nixon seems entirely divorced from the cause. An arms trader who hates guns, trading weapons to terrorists? He'd implied someone was forcing his hand, keeping him prisoner, but Dick can't be sure of that. Sobel's intel had said it was all of his own volition, and Lew hasn't done anything relevant in the time Dick has been watching him. Dick glances at Nix's face, thoughtful.

There could be truth to what Nixon said. But he needs more time.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next week, Dick falls into a routine. He spends Tuesday and Thursday evenings with Lew in his studio apartment, and he stays over at the house on the weekends. During his free time he watches Lew on the CCTV cameras and takes notes. Lew doesn't do much, really, but on a Monday near the end of the month, he takes a phone call. They hadn't wiretapped the phones, but Lew talks loud enough that Dick can hear his end of the conversation.

He's stiff, and seems frightened, and he ends the call quickly. Hardly a minute later there's a knock at the door, and he goes to answer. Dick watches as two burly men enter Lew's home, one staying by the door and the other guiding him to the couch.

"Your father would like you to make a delivery," the man says curtly, cutting right to the point. "Personally."

"No." Lew crosses his arms, but Dick can read the fear in his face, even pixelated and indistinct as it is on the screen. He wonders at that- from Sobel's intel, Lew was making these deliveries regularly, and often of his own accord. But Lew's confession to Dick had said otherwise. The other man seems to read Lew's fear, too, and chuckles.

"You don't get a choice. You know how this works. Your little rat friends fucked up a delivery, and the cops busted them. So it's time for you to take responsibility for once."

"I'll find someone else," Lew argues. "I'm done doing it myself."

"If you won't comply, you won't see your daughter anymore," the man threatens. "We'll put you in prison for the rest of your life, Lewie."

Lew falls silent, looking stricken. The man smiles, patting Lew on the shoulder.

"Stanhope said you wouldn't argue. Maybe we'll even let you keep seeing that carrot-top you're so fond of, hm?"

Lew's hands curl into fists. "Leave him out of this."

The man smiles. "He doesn't know, does he?"

Lew snarls. "I'll make the delivery on Wednesday. Just leave me alone. Get out of my house."

The man nods, handing Lew a slip of paper and standing up. Lew watches as the men both leave, the door clicking shut behind him, and then he drops his head against his knees. Dick finds he can't look away, heart aching to go to Lew and comfort him. It makes perfect sense- Lew is his father's hands in the underworld, the one doing the dirty work while Stanhope runs the empire. Lew is replaceable, ultimately.

Maybe he'd been involved, but changed his mind later; maybe he'd never wanted to do it in the first place. Either way, Stanhope's illness is the perfect opportunity for Lew to get out, to make the company legal and cut ties, or even abandon it altogether, drive it into the mud until it has to be shut down. Given the gist of their earlier conversation, it's painfully clear that Lewis wants out, and Dick recognizes the opportunity that is presented to him right now. He has a suspicion that Sobel's intel was wrong, or that his client lied, in the interest of furthering Stanhope's agenda and getting Lew out of the way.

But, Dick reminds himself, there is a price on Lew's head, and it's his job to take him out. Lew's death is the only outcome that will be accepted by Sobel and his client. Letting Lewis Nixon live would be futile - it would only result in Dick's own death, and Lew would be taken out by someone else within a week. And _that _someone else might not be as kind about protecting little Bethany Nixon.

Dick doesn't have a choice, either.

* * *

The end of September closes in quickly. Dick doesn't have time for sympathy or debate now, and he curses Lew for holding out for so long. He watches grimly as Lew leaves on Wednesday night after the sun has gone down, dressed down in a black hoodie and jeans, low profile. Dick isn't in a place to intervene, and he watches helplessly as Lew gets in his car and drives away. Dick imagines he will pick up a crate of guns at the manufacturing plant, then take them to some dark, empty parking lot, selling them to gangsters or terrorists, trading the guns for a bag of cash.

He imagines the police finding them, of Lew trying to run and being shot down, and his heart squeezes in his chest. It'd solve everything, Lew being gunned down by the police, killed by a weapon his own company made, but Dick can't abide the thought. He loves Lew, despite the lie he's living.

He steels his resolve, knowing that tomorrow, Lewis Nixon will have to die.

* * *

Lew returns home on Thursday at two in the morning. Dick had kept vigil at the computer, and upon seeing the black Corvette return he lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He watches Lew get out of the car, carrying a backpack inside with him. He opens a closet in the kitchen, revealing a safe, and puts the backpack inside and locks it up. Lew doesn't do anything else, just gets himself a drink, peels off his clothes, and goes to bed, and Dick sighs. He wishes he could be there now, to offer some sort of comfort to Lew, to warn him of what will happen tomorrow.

Dick shakes his head, going to his own bed. He slips into a restless sleep, and doesn't wake until ten.

In the morning light, he dresses and packs his things efficiently, putting everything he doesn't need for today in his Accord. He packs what appears to be an overnight camping bag. Inside is a Glock 17, fully loaded; a container of gasoline, a box of matches, and a change of clothes. It's not like he needs anything else. Dick cleans up the house and turns off the computers, takes the camping bag, and locks the doors. He will return only to take his car home. He walks across the street, ringing Lew's doorbell, and takes a deep breath.

Lew answers after a couple minutes, dressed in a cotton t-shirt and boxers. He rubs his eyes and squints at Dick. He smells like whiskey and sweat. "What're you doing here?" Lew asks, and Dick puts on a smile.

"I thought a weekend getaway would be nice," he says casually. "Or just the day. I have that cabin, remember?"

"Oh," Lew says. "Well, come in. I gotta shower. You know how to use the coffee machine."

Dick steps in, giving Lew a kiss despite his morning breath. He breaks away to the kitchen, setting immediately to making them both coffee. It's living a lie, but maybe he can give Lew one last good morning. He listens as the shower turns on upstairs, indulging himself in a private moment of reflection. If it weren't for their damn jobs, he thinks, they could be happy. He'd find a way to get Lew out. They could move away- Lew had mentioned his mother lives in California. They could go west, change their names and disappear forever. Lew could still see Beth in the summers, if Kathy would agree to it, and Dick thinks she would. There's little resentment between them, from what Lew had said; they had simply parted ways, disagreeing on lifestyle, on Lew's work.

Dick shakes his head, shattering the fantasy. That's all it is, after all: a fantasy. It could never happen.

Lew comes downstairs a while later, freshly showered. He hadn't shaved, Dick notices, and he finds he rather likes the 5 o'clock shadow on Lew. He pulls him in for another kiss, suddenly hungry for him, and Lew chuckles against his lips.

"What's gotten into you today, Dick?" Lew asks, grinning.

"Missed you," Dick murmurs, and it's true. He relishes the scratch of Lew's stubble against his skin, tucking his face against Lew's neck. Lew's arms curl around him, his hand settling on the dip of Dick's spine. "I made you coffee. The fancy caramel one. It looked good."

"It is good," Lew agrees. He pulls back, kissing Dick's temple. "It'll get cold."

Lew makes them bagels to go with their coffee, and they sit at the table, shoulder to shoulder while they eat.

"What did you plan for today?" Lew asks Dick, glancing over the rim of his mug.

"I packed a lunch," says Dick. "We can go out for dinner, or bring something in a cooler. There's a grill there, and a full kitchen. We can go out on the lake, and have a bonfire." He smirks. "There's a bed, too."

"A nice bed?"

"A nice bed." Dick smiles. "Whenever you're ready."

* * *

At the cabin, Dick starts to panic. He watches as Lew takes it in, commenting on the architecture and the decorations, pointing out the fireplace and the loft bedroom with a smile. It's a beautiful cabin, with an octagonal living area, a kitchen and bathroom tucked under the bedroom loft. There's a porch in the back, with a grill and patio chairs, a good view of the lake, the sailboat moored by the dock.

Dick's initial plan was to knock Lew out, smother him and set the cabin on fire. It'd look like an accident to the police, a man who fell asleep with the fireplace burning, maybe. But he stalls, and thinks about spending the night, killing Lew in his sleep. It'd be easier. Kinder. But the _maybes _and the _what ifs _would keep him from taking action, and Lew's sleeping face would undo him. Even just taking him out on the lake, Dick thinks, pushing Lew off the boat into the water, would be too difficult. Better to finish it off now, before he loses the nerve.

So he swallows, and opens his bag, taking out his gun. Lew is distracted, looking out the window, and Dick raises his arm and clicks off the safety. The sound seems to echo in the cabin, incriminating. Lew turns around, staring wide-eyed at Dick. He realizes he's making a mistake, because shooting Nix would be too obvious, but he stands his ground, panic and fear trembling in his throat.

"Dick?" His voice is small, frightened.

"I'm sorry, Lew," Dick says thickly, and Lew draws in a breath, betrayal crossing his face like a shadow. "I have to do this."

"Dick," Lew says again. His expression hardens, anger turning his eyes cold. "How could you?"

"I'm a professional hitman," Dick says, the words like fire on his tongue. "I was hired to kill you."

Lew stares at Dick for a moment, then scowls. "Let me guess, my Dad sent you?"

Dick blinks, confused. "I don't actually know who ordered it. They told me you were smuggling weapons to terrorists."

Lew scoffs. "Only because Dad orders me to. I told you, Dick, I'm being forced. I don't want any of this. If I refuse, they'll send evidence to the police and I'll go to prison for the rest of my life. My only chance to make this right is after Dad dies. I'm sure he ordered it, who else would want me dead?"

Dick shakes his head, his stomach feeling cold and tight. "It can't be him. He's your _family _."

Lew smirks. "What did they tell you? That there's someone else set to inherit after I die? Someone who'd keep it running the legal way? Because that's a lie, Dick. There's no one but me and my sister, Blanche, and she'd sell it off to the highest bidder, morals be damned. She wants nothing to do with it, and Dad knows it."

Dick's hand tightens on the gun. "It doesn't matter," he says, but his voice shakes. "I have to do this, Lew. If it's not me, it will be someone else. And I can't promise they'll leave your family alone, you understand? If Beth is there..."

"She's innocent," Lew says urgently, eyes wide. "You leave her out of this."

"I know she is. But the next person...they might not."

Lew squares his jaw, his lip quivering. He's angry, and afraid, and betrayed, and Dick deserves this. "If you kill me, you won't fix anything." Nix stops, his jaw working. " Are you going to kill me?"

"Yes," Dick says, but he does not move. He sees Nixon swallow thickly, his throat bobbing, and the man lets out a quiet sigh. Lew is afraid, but he's dealing with it remarkably well. Dick wonders darkly how often Nixon has been held at gunpoint, if he thought the next time would be the last.

"Then do it," Nixon says, gritting his teeth. "What are you waiting for?"

Dick can't answer that question. He remembers the times they had slept together, the late night conversations and the comfort Lewis offered after he'd completely undone Dick. It was stupid to get involved. Careless. He should have known he would develop feelings. If he's being honest with himself, he'd developed feelings from the moment he laid eyes on the man in a restaurant in New York. He should've just sniped Lewis from the home next door and been done with it. His hand shakes, the gun rattling faintly.

Lewis softens. "You care too much," he says knowingly. "I know you do. I could tell from the way you talk."

Dick lowers the gun, clicking the safety on, and Lew visibly relaxes. He looks up at Dick. Dick expects to see anger, betrayal, anything but the open affection in Lew's eyes now.

"They'll burn me," he says. "I'll be a traitor. They won't let me live." Dick doesn't hold his own life very highly, but he'd been hoping to retire and find some peace after all this. He'd dreamed of finding that with Lew.

Lew nods. "You waited. Because you dreaded it."

Dick nods. "I just wanted one more night," he admits quietly. "And then- then it was another. And another. And now we're here."

"Now we're here," Lew repeats. "And I have to die, no matter how you feel about it."

"Yes," Dick says, swallowing.

Lew drops his head, smiling darkly. "It's my birthday tomorrow, you know," he says casually. "I'll be 27. I wonder if Dad did that on purpose."

"We're both still so young," Dick says, regretful.

"I've done enough with my life. I've made my peace. Don't risk your own life on account of me, Dick. No one will miss me."

"What about Beth?"

"She already spends most of her time at Kathy's. She'll forget me eventually." His expression hardens. "But you make sure no one ever lays a hand on her, alright?"

Dick grimaces. "I hate the way you say that. Like you've given up on being a good parent." He looks at Lew. "You could be a great father, Lew. If only you stopped hating yourself so much."

Lew is silent, looking down at the floor. It's hard to look at him like this, vulnerable and open. Trusting Dick, foolishly. Dick steels himself, tucking his gun in the back of his jeans. He walks towards Lew, who looks up at him. There's an emptiness in his eyes, and Dick knows he's hit a chord.

"You have to die today," Dick says. "I'm sorry, Lew."

Lewis smiles, faintly. "It's alright."

Dick nods, taking his gun out from his jeans once more and turning the safety off. He aims for Lew's forehead and pauses.

"Are you ready?" he asks, and Lew swallows audibly.

"Will it hurt?"

"No."

Lew sighs, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. "Okay," he says.

And Dick pulls the trigger.


	4. Chapter 4

_+02 years _

Bordeaux, France

"Lew? I've gotten the mail," Dick says, closing the door behind him. He hangs up his spring jacket and takes off his shoes, wandering out into the living room. Their apartment is small, but between the two of them they don't have enough for it to feel crowded. Dick finds the patio doors open, Lew sitting outside having a smoke. He bends down to kiss Lew's temple, murmuring a hello. Lew smiles, looking up at Dick.

"Anything from Blanche?"

"Yeah," says Dick, handing Lew an envelope. He sits down in the other deck chair, watching Lew open the letter. Lew smiles as he reads, a sad, care-worn twist of his lips that Dick has become rather too familiar with, then looks at the photographs.

"I miss Beth," he sighs.

"I know." Dick reaches for Lew's hand, linking their fingers together. He doesn't say anything more. There's no comfort he can offer, and nothing he can say that Lew doesn't already know. Beth is nine years old now, about to start middle school. Everyone but Blanche thinks Lew is dead, and Nixon Firearms is gone. Stanhope had passed just after they'd left for France, finally taken by pneumonia after a slow decline in his general health.

Nix's death was a straightforward one; as Dick told it to Sobel, he'd made a run for it and Dick chased after him, and then he'd fallen off the cliff into the sea as the tide was going out. The police, of course, got a different story- Dick and Nix had gone out walking together, and Nix slipped and fell. It was cliche, but believable, and they never found a body, and neither did Sobel's private investigators, so that was the end of Lewis Nixon. Nixon Firearms was shut down just a day after his death was legally confirmed, and Blanche went untouched by the entire affair, having never been involved.

The shutdown was easy enough to instigate. Harry Welsh, a friend of Dick's from the Marines, had gone into the CIA. After hiding Nix in a shelter in Lancaster, Dick had gathered enough information to expose the dirty business of Nixon Firearms and dumped it on Harry's doorstep, and with Lewis out of the picture; his death faked, police on the scene finally confirming it; he'd been freed.

Fake identities and passports from a friend of Harry's took them both out of the United States forever, two one-way tickets to France and only as much luggage as they could bring with them. The rest of Lew's things, including his beloved dog Polly, went to his sister to send to them later, and Dick's things were all left out on the street for pickers to take. Piper the cat had never really been Dick's, and so she stayed at the house, there for whoever bought it next.

Kathy and Beth couldn't know Lew was still alive, of course, but Dick had reached out to Blanche, and she'd promised to send photos and letters keeping up with Beth's life. When the time was right, they agreed, she would tell Beth the truth. Then it would be up to her if she wanted to see her father.

It'd been hard on Lew, and he'd cried at the airport before they boarded, burying his face in Dick's shoulder and soaking his jacket with tears. He was tired, after, and slept through most of the flight; he was quiet and reticent when Dick guided him through the airport and into a taxi, into their new home. Dick had made sure the place came furnished, and he urged Lew to lie down with him and rest for a while. Both of them had promptly passed out, sleeping until dusk.

Since then they have both adjusted to their new life, Lew teaching Dick to speak French and showing him all the places he'd visited as a child. Dick doesn't much care for the French, but Lew loves it, and it's worthwhile to see him happy. He'll never really understand how Lew can still love him after all he's taken from him, but he's grateful.

Lew lets out a sigh, and Dick glances over at him. He watches as Lew tucks the photos and letter into the envelope, setting it on the small patio table between them, and looks over at Dick with a smile.

"We should go to the beach," he says. "Beautiful day today, isn't it?"

"Yes," Dick agrees, squeezing Lew's hand. "That sounds perfect."


End file.
